


Not Worth It

by JanitorBot



Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types
Genre: A Zero who doesn't care, An X who really does, An accountant who does, Gen, In fact he doesn't exist, Post-MMX1, This makes him a financial nightmare lmao, Zero doesn't do taxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanitorBot/pseuds/JanitorBot
Summary: Zero isn’t an asset.It’s a person.Ten minutes later, a reploid walks out from the elevators and beelines towards Samarth’s cubicle.Specifically, a reploid wearing flashy red armor with gold accents likened to an obnoxious sports car, questionable gem placements, blond hair for days, and a pair of sharp blue eyes on a face that Samarth wouldn’t be surprised if it has its own insurance.In which a human accountant has to deal with the literal money blackhole that is Zero after the Rebellion.





	Not Worth It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChronicDelusionist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicDelusionist/gifts).



> A commissioned fic for ChronicDelusionist who provided a prompt from Reddit:  
> “You are the person who has to do accounting for the Maverick Hunters. Zero just finished explaining to you how he dismounted a ride chaser by jumping off and letting it explode against the wall.”
> 
> Haha, funny thing is I actually know someone who’s a CPA so I gave her a quick call and turns out it’s less exciting and involved than it actually is.  
> So I guess our guy has to dabble a bit in forensic accounting then.

The Council doesn’t trust the Maverick Hunters with money.

Which, to Samarth Chisholm, is fair considering all the _drama._

Even from an outsider’s perspective, the Maverick Hunters sounds like a giant financial nightmare by itself. Personal matters should not mix in with business matters and one would think robots would be better than humans maintaining that rule.

Yet the Hunters have all the makings of a cheap political soap opera from the consequent betrayals all the way to internal civil strife that led to Sigma’s Rebellion.

Hell, Samarth heard that the Hunters’ Navigators aren’t trusted to have their own personal scouting mechs anymore because they were used against Abel City during the war. They’ve got to use the ones available in the public server, and hah, Samarth can only imagine how much more complicated it’ll be across multiple departments if they get _those_ damaged.

 _Man, reploids are such a hassle_ , he snorts quietly, eyes pasted on his laptop’s screen at one of the various empty cubicles in the Hunters’ accounting branch.

On paper he’s a temp transfer; an unlucky schmuck of a government audit contractor randomly chosen to fill in a spot until the Hunters get their numbers back, but really Samarth just needs to investigate into one last specific case.

One reason the Council doesn’t trust the Hunters’ proposed budget is because their ledgers aren’t balanced; apparently entire assets have disappeared recently (not factoring the still currently processing of war damages debts) and Samarth needs to look into it on behalf of the Council and the Hunters.

Is it financial fraud? Debts hidden in lab and weapon manufacturing partnerships?

Whatever the case, Samarth has to find out what’s up with this “Zero” asset and he’ll be on his way.

 

* * *

 

When Samarth oh-so innocently informs a couple data-combers down at the admin branch what’s up with the so-called Zero asset, he didn’t expect being told that, “He should be done with patrol. If there isn’t a mission, we’ll send him down to you.”

Which means Zero isn’t an asset.

It’s a person.

Ten minutes later, a reploid walks out from the elevators and beelines towards Samarth’s cubicle.

Specifically, a reploid wearing flashy red armor with gold accents likened to an obnoxious sports car, questionable gem placements, blond hair for days, and a pair of sharp blue eyes on a face that Samarth wouldn’t be surprised if it has its own insurance.

Zero sits opposite from Samarth’s desk, legs and arms crossed, with the bitchiest resting face the man has ever seen (which is impressive since Samarth has seen more than his fair share back in his previous firm).

Samarth internally groans. Not this bullshit again.

Samarth is a simple man who prefers to keep his life as simple as possible especially since accounting is already stupidly hard, less alone utilizing it to find evidence of fraud and embezzlements.

Any business that involves reploids always, without a doubt, gets _complicated_ because the majority of them come with the delightful addition of initial contracted existences and so they’re usually marked as property until they’re done with their service (the companies need to get their profits’ worth for commissioning particular model lines in the first place after all).

They’re basically money tadpoles: start off as one thing, become an entirely different thing later. Since reploids are still relatively a new thing, the IRS is still making policy changes regarding their status. 

At least Samarth is starting to realize what the problem is. If he’s lucky, there won’t be any litigations and he can have one less headache.

“Hello, Mr. Zero,“ Samarth begins amiably, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

Zero looks at the hand but doesn’t make any move to take it. Samarth puts it down unperturbed.

Robots, whatever.

“Alright, you’re a busy man so let’s try to get this over with. There’s some information missing.” He pauses. “Actually, there’s _a lot_ of information missing, but that’s why we’re both here. We’re going to fill in some blanks and let you go back to work with no problems.”

Samarth opens up a couple tabs on his laptop. “So, it seems you don’t really have a real identity and you’re labeled as an asset, hence some of the confusion. That may be because the administration branch was…” he squints. “Bombed. During the Rebellion.”   

The poor bastards. Just because office workers occasionally pray for the sweet release of death, doesn’t mean they actually want it.

It’s not within Samarth’s jurisdiction to deal with anything potentially messy like this, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a couple notes to explain to the Council if they ever ask.

Samarth slides a packet and a pen to Zero. “Here’s a form. Just fill in the information.”

Zero flips through the pages but that’s it. He looks up at Samarth and says,” I can’t fill in this information.”

Samarth frowns. “What do you mean you can’t? We’re just asking you what your model serial line and who your manufacture – “

“I don’t know any of that," Zero interrupts. "I have amnesia.”

_You’re bullshitting me._

Samarth demands, “Then how are you employed in the Hunters? If you weren’t designed for the Hunters, you came _outside_ of the Hunters and need to go through the process and the papers to get in.”

Zero shrugs. “I was found during a mission and was brought in. The Hunters kept me.”

_Like a stray dog._

That was never brought to the vet and got the vaccinations and the subsequent paperwork.

Samarth flips to another file on his laptop. “Which means this contract on you is fake. Which means you don’t actually have a contract behind you - and yet you’re marked down as an asset. This isn’t legal.”

“I was brought in by Sigma.”

 _“Definitely_ not legal,” Samarth concludes flatly, feeling a migraine approaching. This might become a litigation after all. “If you were employed and had your own account, I can understand how in some part of the money disappeared and that would have been considered an asset loss because of how you were mislabeled. That could have gone into your contract to the designer behind you, but you don’t have that, and there’s no way you can have an account.”

“I don’t get paid. I just work here.” Zero stops. “It might be the equipment then.”

Samarth blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I have worked for the Hunters for nine months and three days,” ticks out Zero. “During which I have utilized the Hunters’ provided resources in order to carry out my missions.”

“The disappeared zennies happened after the Rebellion. We’re not touching on any losses during the war and before it.”

“Then this all occurred over the span of two months and seventeen days,” says Zero.

_Apparently._

“Are there any dates on the losses?” asks Zero, who has a look in his eyes as if he realized something.

Samarth opens up a document and turns the laptop around for the Hunter to see.

“It is the equipment,” Zero confirms nodding as he scrolls down. He points to a specific row. “This one here is the ADU-T400 turbo. I remember because I asked X for it.”

Samarth isn’t a major vehicle enthusiast, but his sister is and he at least recognizes the name. “ADU-T400 turbo? That’s a Cheval Ride Chaser! That’s where 12,559,000 zennies disappeared to? What happened to it?!”

“I dismounted it by jumping off and letting it explode against a wall.”

Samarth stares. Zero stares back.

“…And why did you do that?”

“It was used for an ambush. The Cheval was powerful enough to break into a fortified entrance at a Maverick hideout in the Pineress outskirts.” 

Okay, fine. Samarth isn't a police officer or some law enforcement personnel - he's not going to question that. 

“Do you at least know when it was bought?” Samarth asks dazedly.

“Last month.”

Pained, Samarth buries his face in his hands. “Accumulation depreciation wouldn’t be anything, oh my god.”

So it was a brand new, perfectly working hover bike and Zero destroyed it just because he can. If Samaira heard this, she’d strangle the reploid (not that it would do anything because, well, reploids don’t really need air and their necks are made out of metal or something, Samarth doesn’t know).

“Was it covered by insurance?”

Zero’s eyes suddenly take on a faraway look.

“Hello? Did you hear what I just said?”

“Give me a moment. I’m looking up what an insurance is.”

Samarth resists the urge to headdesk.

 

* * *

 

“Basically, if you drop Zero and any accounted expenditures related to him, the Council may consider accepting your proposal,” starts Samarth.

Mega Man X, the reluctant Acting Commander of the Hunters, looks up from the provided datapad on his desk, openly confused. “Zero?”

“Yes. He’s literally a hole in your books.”

If dealing with Zero’s taxes was Samarth’s actual daytime job, he’d be pouring booze in his coffee everyday instead of during the busy season.

“Can you please elaborate?”

“Within the past couple of months, the Hunters have accumulated losses that total an estimate of a whopping 217,060,588 zennies and they’re all tied to _him.”_  

X’s eyes comically widen and finally -  _someone_ gets it. When Samarth told Zero that, the red robot only said that the losses were unfortunate, but he chose what was “tactically best” at the time – whatever that means.

“He spends _so much,”_ the accountant continues, barely holding back from moaning. “Upgrade, damage and repair for the Hunter’s H801 Armored Tactical Transport, a GTI-322 Javelin, a carbine bulk refills for the recent TI24 MAIM – that’s not even half of it!” Samarth quips as X appears increasingly uncomfortable. “He has to be using the Hunter’s budget because the numbers match, but he’s not even properly labeled as an employee! Considering he was taken in by Sigma, I know that’s not on you, but that needs to be fixed ASAP and this doesn’t look good on the Hunters. He’s an illegal reploid.” Samarth hangs his head low. “And he doesn’t even have _receipts.”_

“This isn't a problem,” is the firm reply.

Samarth snaps back up. “What do you mean?” he asks suspiciously.

“Zero isn’t an illegal reploid. That’s a misunderstanding stemmed from file mismanagement,” says X with an apologetic smile. “During the Rebellion, so much paperwork has fallen through the cracks and we’re still scrambling to find out what we’re missing and needing to recollect. I’m sorry that it’s taking so long, but we’re still trying to recover from the war. I’ll have Cain Labs prepare the papers soon enough.”

Samarth isn't buying it. “He said he was found and taken in by Sigma. If he was from Cain Labs, he could have just told me that.” 

“Zero has suffered processor malfunctions along with his amnesia,” X responds smoothly. “I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive him.”

Samarth frowns. “He’s broken?”

Something flits across X's face too quickly for Samarth to catch.

X hums. “The best way I can describe is that Zero has the reploid equivalent of a human mental illness. Zero glitches and these days he has been having so little sleep. He’s been working so much since…” X sighs sorrowfully. “The Rebellion. So many of our comrades and friends fell. He’s been taking on the bulk of the workload as a result.”

Samarth tries not to squirm at the sight of X’s shoulders dropping. It’s times like these that Samarth is reminded harshly that reploids are people.

“Anyways,” the blue android resumes slowly. “Zero is indeed a custom build from Cain Labs. In fact, I was there for his activation and poor Zero was abused and lost after he left us. I didn't recognize him with how much his build changed. Don’t worry, I _will_ prepare the papers.”

“That’s…good,” Samarth says lamely, feeling off-footed.

This is ridiculous.

Despite X being apparently strong enough to survive through the Maverick War and come out as kind of, sort of a hero, it’s hard to be intimidated by someone who looks like a fourteen-year old. Compare to X, Zero - who’s taller, more intimidating, and carries a saber on his back - should overall be generally scarier (though Samarth can’t be easily cowed by someone who doesn’t know what an insurance is).  

So why does something about this feel…tense? He can’t quite put his finger on it.

Samarth tentatively points out,” There’s still his unrecorded purchases…”

“That too can be amended,” X says calmly just shy of swift. “He doesn’t have the receipts because I do. His equipment is technically all Hunters’ assets and so they were purchased under the Hunters’ name. I’ll send the electronic receipts and the history to you.”

The Father of All Reploids smiles gently. “If you have any concerns regarding Zero, you can go to me. I’ll make sure that they’ll all be taken care of in due time. Is there anything more, Mr. Chisholm?”  

Samarth hesitates. “From the top of my head, those are the most important concerns.”

“Will you be so kind to list them out and send them to me in an e-mail? It’s been a long day for the both of us and I feel sorry having you stay cooped up in this building any more than you should.”

“I can do that,” the accountant affirms. “And honestly, it’s no trouble. This is my job.”

“It is, but you’re only human. It’s good that we take care of ourselves. I wouldn’t wish you push yourself more than what’s necessary.”

_Human._

Before Samarth can say anything more, someone knocks on the door and X’s face brightens. “You may come in.”

The door slides open and Zero walks in holding a gift basket.

“This is for you,” Zero says expressionlessly to Samarth. The reploid unceremoniously drops it into the accountant’s hands. “Your high proficiency of numeracy, analytical ability, and steady patience to see through to the end of a mission deserves recognition,” he says nonchalantly like he's reading a script.

“Zero is thanking you for all your help,” X translates helpfully from the side to a baffled Samarth.

“You’re welcome,” Samarth manages dumbly. A bottle of Cabernet, vintage red wine biscuits, marinated artichokes, red wine cheese spread, chocolate covered toffee almonds, and more hidden under what he can see.    

“Would you like to be escorted to your car?” offers X.

“No, I should be fine,” Samarth blurts out reflexively, inching towards the door as he senses the end of the meeting. “Well thank you for seeing with me, Commander.”

“Thank you so much for helping us. Have a good night, Mr. Chisholm,” farewells X sincerely.

 It’s only when Samarth is down at the parking lot that he realizes that he’s been holding his breath the entire time.

 _It was like dealing with a mob boss,_ the bizarre thought cuts across Samarth’s mind.

“Don't let it be anymore complicated than it should be,” the accountant whispers to himself as he starts his car.

Reploids are such a hassle.


End file.
